


How May I Serve You?

by SheelaNaGig



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Cock Rings, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Service Submission, Spanking, Subwall, Switching, tease and denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3503684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheelaNaGig/pseuds/SheelaNaGig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending all day engaged in battles of the painstakingly diplomatic variety, Inquisitor Trevelyan wants nothing more than a good book and a cup of wine. Though a tantalizing surprise is waiting in her quarters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How May I Serve You?

**Author's Note:**

> All right. I missed writing my short stories, so here's more Blackwall smut. Keep in mind this is a switch fic. So it's sort of like playing sexual act tag roulette with the two main characters. Cock rings and cunnilingus: obvious. But what about nipple clamps and mild anal play? Suppose you'll just have to read and find out.

"Bloody, pig-headed nobles," Lady Inquisitor Nymeria Trevelyan groused as she strode through the War Room's double doors. Her blood roiled as if she'd just finished battle, and perhaps she had. All thing considered, she’d take a skirmish of blood and daggers over ink and paper any day. 

Her scalding anger fizzled at the empty corridor stretching before her. Normally she’d find Blackwall leaning beside the door, whittling away at a bit of wood until she finished pushing pawns around the continent and arguing with her advisors until her throat went dry. That she’d been wholly looking forward to his presence was lost on her until this very moment. 

“Wonderful. This day—“ she complained before noticing the darkness creeping in through crumbling exterior wall. “—or night, just keeps getting better.”

She sighed to herself and made her way to her quarters, hoping no one would pester her lest they bear the brunt of her misdirected scorn. But could she fault Blackwall for probably getting bored and leaving? Perhaps she’d seek him out later at Cabot’s. All she wanted right now was a tankard of wine and a good book to distract from her annoyance.

Heart heavy with disappointment, she ascended the few creaky flights to her tower, the ascent made more tedious in her reluctant solitude. Light flickering beneath her door snapped her from this unbecoming malaise. Alarmed that someone lit the sconces in her room, Nymeria drew a dagger from her boot and skulked to the door in soundless steps. All stealth rendered useless as the door creaked open with a push of her empty hand. 

“Shit,” she mouthed. Oiling the door hinges added to her mental list of tasks. Nymeria peered through the balustrade gaps to scan the room. No use in subterfuge now. Might as well take the offense. “Who’s there?”

“Tis only I, my lady,” Blackwall’s deep voice infused the silence of the lofty room and Nymeria relaxed.

Biting back a grin, she sheathed the dagger in her boot and ascended the stone stairs. “Got bored of waiting in the—“ she began but the very sight of him revoked whatever coherency she possessed. “Oh.”

Her paramour knelt beside her bed, dressed only in a sinfully tight pair of trousers. His nape-length hair fell at his temples just the way she preferred. The long locks touched the dark thicket of the beard covering his cheeks and jaw. After absorbing the delicious sight of his bare upper body did she notice he held a silver tray laden with purple wild flower and a chalice.

“And what do I owe the pleasure of this occasion?” she smirked and sauntered up to him, leaving squabbling nobles and irascible darkspawn on the other side of the door.

“You owe nothing, my lady,” he answered, his eyes the color of blue ice looking up from where he knelt. “Tonight is about you. About anything you desire of me. I am beholden to you.”

She nibbled her lip at the salacious prospects but ignored the heat fluttering in her core. Somehow playing aloof seemed more fitting than giddy elation. Nymeria plucked the chalice off the tray and gave it an appreciative sniff. 

“Ostwick sweet purple. Your favorite vintage,” he spoke and rendered her indifference an even more rigorous undertaking.

She sipped from the polished silver chalice, rolling the sweet elixir over her tongue to savor the nuances. Wordlessly, she set the cup back upon the tray and sauntered away from him. “And what if my desire is to have you reorganize my bookshelves? Or to scrub my hearth?”

“Then I shall do I as you bid,” he claimed, the even-tempered words conveying the conviction of the statement. “Although, if I may speak freely, my lady has been awfully tense these past days. And her stress has nothing to do with books or blackened hearths.”

She spun on her heels and advanced, halting only when she stood toe-to-knees and stared down at him. Torchlight shimmered softly in his placid blue eyes and illumined every curve and contour of his bare torso. No, to put this man to menial labour for a lark would be such a waste of sensuous potential.

“So tell me, my lady,” he said, wetting his lips and allowing his eyes to slide over her body. “How may I serve you?”

In spite of the tempest of depravity whirling behind her eyes, she preserved her austere countenance. “Sit the tray on my desk and then remove your trousers. I assume you’re not wearing smalls?” When did the man ever wear them? She swore he eschewed undergarments just to tease her.

“As you bid, my lady.” He rose with a warrior’s finesse and padded towards the desk. Every move came in sinuous grace, unhindered by his stocky frame. Laces rasped in the silence of the room. Blackwall undressed beneath her auger gaze, shamelessly pushing his trousers down hips and thighs until they pooled at his ankles. “And if my lady didn’t know the answer to her second question, she does now.”

The length of him stirred against his thigh, swelling beneath her scrutiny alone. No amount of haughty reserve could stifle the nibble on her bottom lip or the rise of her chest in a longing sigh. 

And no amount of servile acting could clip Blackwall’s smugness. A beaming smirk shined in the shadow of his beard. “You’re not going to make me categorize your books now, are you?”

“I like you better on your knees, soldier.” She pinched her indomitable brow downwards. “Drop. Tonight you are not allowed to stand taller than I am. Understand?”

“As you bid, my lady,” he spoke in easy submission and knelt beside her desk.

“These clothes are a hinderance. Come take them off.” she tossed casually. “And that is not an invitation to fondle your lady. Do you understand?”

“As you bid, my lady.” 

Obeying her height rules meant crawling on hands and knees across her floor, his muscles sliding beneath skin with a predatory animal’s grace. Her tunic’s front closures unfastened so swiftly that Blackwall could probably undress her blindfolded and with one hand. She gave a satisfied sigh when he unbound her constricting breast band, letting the garment fall to the floor to be joined by her boots and trousers. Blackwall always left her delicate smalls for last, like pulling the satin ribbon away to open a present. The hunger flared in his eyes as he gently pushed her silky undergarment down her legs. However, the imperious Inquisitor allowed little time to be relished.

"Bring my thigh-high boots. The ones the Empress of Orlais gave me," she bade as if he were her valet.

Blackwall released a soft breath from his nose, the servile calm glinted with wariness. "The boots? But I intended you to relax this evening. A massage...I could draw you a bath?"

"Hmmmm...well, I desire my boots. So bring them, or are you being insubordinate?"

His gaze lowered to the floor in contrition. "I'm sorry, my lady. I'll retrieve your boots."

After the ten minutes it took to lace the elegant footwear on, she did her best not to ruin her cavalier demeanor by toppling as she paced a circuit around him. Maker, these boots were completely improbable for regular wear. Regardless of her rogue prowess, even a light walk proved precarious on the tapered high heels, but Andraste's tits she felt incredibly empowered in them. Nymeria had worn full suits of armor and hadn't felt nearly as commanding as she did standing naked in these boots. Her heels made a crisp click with each step. The arching platform stretched the tendons in her thighs and lifted her bottom to pert mounds. Even her breasts felt fuller and higher. Lambent arousal stirred with each step. If she’d dared to gauge her wetness, Nymeria was certain she’d find herself pleasantly swollen and sodden. Feminine musk pervaded in her wake. She recognized the flare of her paramour’s nostrils that he scented her like a virile stallion does a mare in heat.

“Hmmm, now that I have my boots on, I still feel a tad underdressed.” She sat daintily on her white settee across from where he knelt. "Be a dear and retrieve my favorite chain from my jewelry box. You know the one. With the purple sapphires set in silver."

He made a delicious groaning sound and his cockstand jerked in enthusiastic approval. "Aye, my lady. I do."

Blackwall crawled back with the chain dangling from his mouth, swinging with his sleek movement. He dropped the ornament in her proffered hand. Hope glimmered in his eyes. "Does my lady require assistance in putting it on?"

She chuckled and let a sigh conceal her excitement. "I _suppose_ you could prepare me."

Nymeria sat up straight, hands twining in his hair as he suckled her nipple to a wet, stiff peak. Delicate flesh pebbled and tingled beneath Blackwall’s teeth as his beard brushed over her bare stomach. 

“Work on the other one," she bade and slid the blunted clamp over her nipple, tightening it with the tension bead. Blackwall reluctantly pulled from the other nipple like a hungry babe who had yet to drink his fill. The need shined in the darkness of his eyes like the blaze of the sconces gleaned in the jewels, catching purple fire bound by delicate silver links. She secured the other clasp around her nipple.

He had bought the chain from a love shop in Val Royeaux. Sometimes Nymeria wore it beneath her clothes, stealing opportunities to flaunt a purple sapphire through a gap in her front closure, driving Blackwall amorously mad with the secret knowledge. Of course, the scandalous bauble was just as much a gift for him given his propensity to tug the chain as she rode atop him or took her from behind.

“Are you hungry for me, soldier?” she asked, scratching him behind his ear. 

"Starving for you, my lady. Always." A carefully subdued ferocity threaded through each syllable. Both knew he could take what he wanted, could merely clutch her hips, bear her back on the mattress, and wedge his face between her legs. Yet for all his overpowering potential, he remained submissive, on his knees at her behest. And the vigor of it thrummed in Nymeria's veins, pooling heavy and warm between her bare thighs.

"Then go lay on the bed, on your back, and wait for your treat.” She left him with the tracing whisper of her fingertips over the nape of his neck.

The muscles in her face burned from maintaining the austere expression of indifference. So when she knelt over his head, Nymeria finally allowed the pleasure to unfurl, to slacken drawn muscles in a silent gasp. Hair prickled over the velvety petals of her nether lips, quickening the hammering of her heart and the weakness in her knees. Clutching the ornate headboard for purchase, Nymeria undulated her hips over his mouth, soaking his mustache and beard in her potent honey.

Blackwall’s groan muffled in a humid exhalation over her swollen clit. Carefully, her lover suckled the hot little bulb, pushing the hood back with his teeth to enhance her sensation. Quivering fingers scored scratch marks into the headboard’s gilt-leaf veneer. If the man could drive her wild without using his hands, think of what he’d accomplish with deft fingers. Maker, Blackwall knew how to play her clit like a musical instrument. 

With a glance over her shoulder, Nymeria realized those hands were already being put to use. Although she took perverse joy in watching his foreskin gliding up to swallow his head in his self-ministrations, she hadn’t granted him leave to do so.

“Did I give you permission to touch yourself?” she sniped.

A peeved grunt smothered against her nether lips. “No, my lady. You did not.”

“That’s what I thought.” Nymeria slid off the bed, secretly reveling in the juices festooning his beard. “Roll over. On your stomach. My soldier needs to be punished for his insubordination.”

Nymeria snatched the wide, wooden hair brush from beside her bed and slapped it against her palm a few times. No belt, but certainly the best she could do off the cuff. “You remember the watchword, correct?”

She saw his back shoulders bunch in ominous dread and then shiver in anticipation. “Aye, my lady. I do.”

 _Je me rends._ the words tethered between them, waiting to be deployed when ever he grew to uncomfortable with their play.

To clinch her punishment, she retrieved a slender, leather harness, also a gift from Empress Celene, and snugged the pliant strap around his thick shaft and the root of his testicles. “There. So if you further indulge the pesky urge to touch yourself, it will do you no good.” 

The look Blackwall shot her could have melted through a shield. Yet he bit back his protests, letting them cool in that thick head of graying hair. In spite of his deference to her station, this man had an aggressive streak which often ended with her back pinned to the mattress and her knees touching her shoulders. But wasn’t that the ulterior allure of all this? To take the man with shallow roots and plant him firmly at her feet. To keep him as hers, only hers, until their passions spent.

Wordlessly, and without her having to repeat herself, he flipped onto his stomach, presenting that exquisitely vulnerable backside for discipline. Nymeria kneaded his ample buttocks, preparing it for his punishment and indulging her own enjoyment of his body as well.

“Let’s keep it at ten strokes, shall we?” she purred.

Each disparaging clout of the wood against his backside left a red blossom of the brush’s scathing kiss. Yet this act wasn’t all strident discipline, not with Blackwall’s hips driving into the coverlet paired with his quim-flooding groan. They had experimented with worse than a hairbrush before. Nymeria split the tally, alternating hindquarters after each strike. A glistening sweat covered his back by the tenth stroke. Soon his arse radiated pink with mottles of red, hot to touch beneath her appraising fingertips. 

Nymeria finished his castigation with a hearty spank. “Alright, on your back.”

Frustration simmered in his eyes, but Blackwall failed to mute the wry smile of contentment. The ruddy monster jutting between his thighs offered another indicator that he reveled in her punishment. Unable to come, the very tip of his prick blushed purple in ravenous need. 

“Mmmmm, looks good enough to suck,” she purred and knelt between his legs on the mattress. 

Nuzzling the inside of his knee, Nymeria trailed little kisses and nibbles up his robust thighs. The skin fevered hotter the closer her lips drew to his groin. Heat carried the scent of him, infusing every breath she took like incense in a chantry. He smelled of clean skin with the underlying natural scent of cedar and male musk. Gone was the metallic tang of sweat from the training yard that she'd smelled the last time she kissed him. How long had he planned this? She hummed against the fuzzy flesh of his muscular thigh in heady appreciation. 

M-My lady," Blackwall stammered as she nibbled the shallow crease between his thigh and stomach. "This night is about serving you. Surely you—“

"Hush. You said I could have whatever I desire, and you look especially delicious right now." She teased with the barest lick along the foreskin ridge, delighting in his shudder. 

"Such a cruel temptress,” he murmured as she took him all the way past her lips, stopping at the leather band. 

Savory salt, sweat, and leather rolled over her tastebuds, making her long for his notably absent pre-cum stymied by the harness. The sweetly frustrated sound of Blackwall’s grunts and curses encouraged her. Her tongue swiped, flicked, lapped, doing everything it could to drive him insane. 

When he finally spoke, it came tight through his teeth. "I don't see how you enjoy this."

"And I suppose you find no gratification when you have me beneath you?" she asked coyly, grazing her teeth over the florid glans peeking from his sheath. "That while your tongue delves into every plump crease of my quim and I call your name, and moan for it, you merely set yourself to task like a good soldier?"

“Maker, Nym,” he flashed his teeth in a feral snarl as she took him back in her mouth. “Such a wanton little fox who has me in her claws ."

Each feeble whine and the twitch of his thighs coiled a sordid heat in her core. His fingers twisted into the satin coverlet, doubtlessly to refrain from twisting the same way in her hair. The control of having this man in her mouth, teasing him, driving him, and depriving him of the privilege to come, exclusively owning his release offered intoxicating power. 

"Does it make your cock swell?" she teased, coming off him with an obscenely loud pop. "Thinking about pleasuring me as I pleasure you?"

"Please, my lady," he plead, his hips squirming for comfort. "I'll do anything! Let me lay down and lick you and you can take me in your mouth all the same. Just take the bloody bridle off my prick.”

“Is that what you want?” She cocked an eyebrow. The man ran a tempting bargain.

“Do you really want to hear what I want?” His frosty eyes narrowed, wracking a shiver down her spine. His voice steadily burned, a carefully contained volatility threatening to blaze over and consume them both. 

The tone coupled with his searing gaze came so utterly disarming that she lost her words, merely nodding in assent.

"I want to fuck you so hard you scream my name." His ferocious glare supported his claim. "I want to plunge inside you until we're both mindless from pleasure. I want to erase every ache of training and battle and replace it with the fresh soreness and ache of me." 

His fingers bit into her hips and hoisted them off the mattress, rubbing the sloppy cradle of her pelvis against the rigid length of him. "I want you to feel me for days. To wince at every pleasant ache when you sit down. To wear my love bites on the hidden places of your body only you and I see."

Blackwall smiled darkly and slanted his mouth over her ear. "I want to know that anytime some ungrateful prat of a noble is haranguing you, that you'll feel the soreness between your legs and know that I'm here waiting, willing to do whatever you demand, my lady."

Nymeria mauled his mouth with her own, unbridling the fury of this afternoon’s meeting that she unknowingly clutched like a burning ember. Fury outpaced exasperation, but both lagged behind tameless passion. She needed him. Needed him to do all that he suggested because she was tired of making decisions herself. The bruising kiss degenerated into scraping teeth and the rasp of his mustache over her lips. 

"Get this fucking thing off me," he growled and she fumbled at the cock harness. 

The bit of leather flew off to the side with careless fling of his arm. As tedious as the boots were to put on, they came of with a few assertive yanks of the laces. Blackwall kneed her newly bare knees apart. The blunt head of his prick nestled between her slick petals and burrowed into the silken trap of her body, as wet and inviting as he was hard and exacting. The raw undertow of his ferocity towed her away from the worries of the day, the trivialities as well as the onerous obligations. All that existed in this moment was the punishing way his hips slapped her thighs and the plumping cockstand stretching her ever wider, propelling Nymeria to her limits. 

Consumed with the amorous preparation of her service, Blackwall rolled them so that Nymeria straddled his hips. His hand clutched at the chain clamped around her nipples, yanking it in short, light tugs. A corresponding clench tightened in her thighs and curled her toes. 

"Blackwall! Fuck!" she cried, overwhelmed by the stimulation in her nipples, clit and womb. 

"Fuck, love. That's it. Moan and curse and cry my name. But don't expect mercy, because you'll have none." He shot up and clutched her to his chest, urging her legs to wrap around his waist. In gruff efficiency, he maneuvered to his knees and redoubled his pace. Blackwall dipped her backwards, her spine arching as her shoulders and head touched the mattress with her thighs wrapped around his hips. Brusque fingers dug into the ample flesh of her bottom and splayed her cheeks, driving himself deeper in his exacting fervor. Her own short nails gouged crescents into the lushly hairy flesh of his forearms, grasping him and savaging him with the frenzy of a drowning woman. 

Blackwall withdrew from the constricting heat, his throaty growl answering her whine of frustration. Lifting her hips like a chalice, he suckled the swollen nub of her clit, drawing the tiny knurl into mouth and sucking the hood tight as he came off her. 

"Flip over," he demanded, flipping Nymeria bodily without giving her time to oblige. 

The clamps twisted against the cloth of the coverlet, wracking a shudder down through the ley line connecting her nipples with her quim. Again he splayed her derrière in crude affinity and sunk his teeth into one of the fleshy mounds. The pain suffused past the plush, penetrating the hard muscle below. That was going to leave a rather sizable bruise in the morning. Nymeria bucked against him, vainly trying to dislodge his mouth, but fingers as unrelenting as steel bands fastened her hips to the mattress. Her own safeword burned up before her eyes and fizzled just as quickly.

“The most delicious arse in all of Thedas,” he said and she heard his wolfish smirk. A resounding spank reverberated through her body, branded her with a stark handprint.

As much as her bottom stung, the unfulfilled heat blazing between her legs burned hotter, more insistent. “Please, Blackwall. I need more.”

Something that sounded like a raspy chuckle sounded behind her. His fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her into position on hands and knees. The chain festooned from her breasts Each sway of the jewelry jolting a prickle of warmth low in her belly. The length of him rammed inside her once more, feeling fuller with the slick thumb sliding into her arse. 

"Fuck," she cursed, meeting his finger and cock with an eager thrust. 

"Is this what you needed?" he asked behind her, the brutal smugness edged with frustration. "Is this how you'd like me to serve you?"

She surged back, her flesh rippling as her arse slammed into his hips, meeting his ferocity with the renewal of her own vigor. The obscene sway of his balls buffeted her clit and she reached down to massage the plump nub.

"Allow me," he growled, hoisting her higher on her knees.

Squeezing her left breast in his calloused palm, Blackwall twisted the clasp on her pinched nipple. His prick plumbed at a sharper angle, not as nearly as deep but jabbing the cluster of nerves just past her entrance. Orgasm coiled tighter in her belly. Only a few flicks of his rough fingers undid her with a blistering cry of cursing and joy. 

"Oh, fuck! Fuck! Maker, Blackwall!" she keened among other incoherent exclamations, her juices gushing down her thighs and over his balls. 

Blackwall roared in triumph. "That's it! Gush on me. Soak me with your cunt, Nym." His fingers came back dripping with her fluids. He licked them in profane appreciation, audibly savoring her nectar as one sucks sticky honey. 

Exhausted and sweaty, Nymeria crumpled onto the burly expanse of his hairy chest, burying her nose in his beard and smelling the juices she slathered there earlier.

He guided her gently onto her stomach, giving her limp, quivering body a much needed reprieve. Despite the aftershocks of her fresh release, Nymeria still whined when Blackwall withdrew from the hollow of her body to roll her on her back. Wetness soaked the coverlet beneath her derrière, rapidly cooling as he spread her thighs and pinned his cockstand against her slick locus.

"So beautiful.” Blackwall's brutal ardor relented to veneration. He drifted his damp touch down the line of her neck, spreading her own musky perfume wherever his fingers rambled. 

The whole her nectar mingled with the earthy trace of his sweet tobac, cedar, and musk, crafting their own unique scent. Blackwall inhaled deeply, breathing it in as if she supplied the air he subsided on. Judging by the intensity of his eyes and how they worshipped her, perhaps he did subside on her. The intimate way he caressed her conflicted the gruff man she found in the Hinterlands, a lone Warden content in his hermitage. Blackwall carried the wilderness inside him, giving it free reign whenever he bedded her. Ferocity and tenderness knit and tangled, binding them into a jumble of questing touches and mingled tastes.

With the greatest care, he removed the first clamp from her nipple, sucking the pain away as blood rushed back into the distended nub. Nymeria whimpered at the removal of the other, but his succor coaxed her into a welter of pleasure chasing the pain.

"Maker’s balls, Nym.” He cradled her face. "You bring out the beast in me. Your beast. Chain me, beat me, cage me, do what you would so long as I'm yours."

"I think my beast is still in need of release.” Nymeria palmed his iron prick, finding it still slick with her juices. His foreskin sinuously slid with her hand. She aligned his bulbous crown with her heated folds, urging him to sink to hilt, filling her with a languid groan.

Their lovemaking moved slower, but no less powerful. Each delving movement of his hips sucked then plunged into her quim. 

"Nym," he murmured against her lips. "My lady, may I come inside you?"

Amid accommodation, gratification, dereference, and love bites, his seed was the greatest gift of the night, she decided. That he’d share his essence with her and that she’d readily accept it. A beauty that transcended possession.

His long hair cascaded around his face, brushing her cheeks and lips as he kissed her neck. When Blackwall came, it wasn’t with a brutal roar of victory but a vulnerable moan of her name, only her name over and over until his stuttering hips bucked with the last drop of his seed. They languished in a panting, sweaty heap in what seemed like a timeless lassitude.

With a combined effort, they pushed away the damp coverlet and settled into bed. The tranquility of spent emotions and overwrought bodies entangled amid silken sheets. Nymeria curled against Blackwall’s chest, listening to his heart steady its beat. She idly combed her fingers through his beard. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Blackwall kissed her forehead, his fingers playing along the valley of her spine. “Everyone deserves a break, Nym. Especially you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
